The Princess and the Bear - Mette Ivie Harrison [21]
And again the bear was reminded of the hound. She found language of different sorts useful, but she did not indulge in idle chatter.
Frant said, “We have lived like this for most of our lives now. We are used to it and would not change for our own sakes. But we worry for our children. They have only each other for company and know nothing of human ways.”
“They are happy enough,” said Sharla. “And human ways are not necessarily better than animal ways.”
The bear pondered this. He respected animals, cared for them, honored them. But given a choice, he would not choose to remain as a bear. Yet this family had grown used to both forms.
“Perhaps,” said Frant. “But still, there are things that I would like to see made possible for them. They have never seen a book. Or a dance. Or a well-baked loaf of bread. And more than that—I worry for their futures.”
The bear ached at this thought. He had not known how much he wanted a child until he realized he would never have one. A bear cub would never be a substitute, for it would only remind him of all that it was not.
“We must be patient,” said Sharla confidently. “There are others like us. You see, these two are proof of it. In time we will find more. And then our children will be well matched in marriage.”
“And if not?” asked Frant, as the bear would have asked himself.
A flicker of pain crossed her face, but then Sharla spread out her hands. “They spend their lives as animals. They live with animals. They speak as animals. Perhaps it would not be so bad if they loved as animals.”
Frant spat. “They are humans.”
“And does that mean that they are above the animals?” asked Sharla.
“Yes!” said Frant fiercely.
The bear thought of the hound. He did not think himself above her, and yet there was a barrier between them, despite all they shared.
Sharla turned to her oldest daughter and said, “Tell the story of the boy who was raised by wolves.”
The girl told the story easily, as if she had heard it many times before.
“Once there was a boy whose mother was killed by wolves. But the babe she carried on her back they took back to their den with them. Perhaps they meant to eat him at first, for he made such a terrible noise.
“But when the lead bitch saw the tiny boy, she offered him her nipple to suckle on, for she had only the day before lost her own son. And while this boy was hairless and moved like a worm, still he was better than nothing. He was warm to snug up against and he eased the ache of her full breasts. And his face was expressive, for when he cried he was as sad as any creature she had ever seen, but when he suckled from her he was perfectly still and content. And when she played with him, he laughed as loud as the birds in the sky.
“She became quite fond of him, though his teeth were weak and he could not run on all four limbs like the other wolves. In time she began to think of him as her own son. She forgot that he had been brought to her as an infant, the dead child of a woman they had killed and devoured. She thought of him as a wolf, smart but weak.”
The girl telling the story looked at her brother for a long moment, then hurried on.
“But the day came that hunters came through the forest, and the boy was discovered with the wolves. The hunters killed two of his packmates, then brought the boy down with them and carried him back to the human dens beyond the forest. The bitch wolf who had been the boy’s mother said farewell to him in her heart and did not think to see him again.
“Until the boy returned. This time he was clothed as a human, and he strode on two feet as he had first learned, before the wolves had taught him better. He smelled as a human smelled, yet he spoke in the language of the wolves.
“The bitch wolf ran from him, but he ran faster and farther. When he caught her, she trembled in his arms.
“‘Mother,’ he called her.
“And he brought her home to his new human den, to honor her.